


Until It Is

by olrazzzledazzzle



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Comfort, Date Rape, Embarrassed Peter Parker, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, HIV/AIDS, Hospitals, Humiliation, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Nightmares, Other, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Please Read Tags!!!!!, Precious Peter Parker, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), STD, Sexual Abuse, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Triggers, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, do not read this if it may trigger you, peter gets hiv, peter is underage, peter makes some bad decisions, peter’s 17 and skips about 25-27, rly ooc, spoiler whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 13:53:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17489246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olrazzzledazzzle/pseuds/olrazzzledazzzle
Summary: Peter’s been through enough health classes throughout his elementary and high school years to know that what’s currently happening right now is far, far from what’s generally considered okay.Blah, blah, sometimes they know it’s wrong but they feel safe with their abusers, blah, it’s still wrong if you don’t say no, blah, blah, sometimes people think they should like it, sometimes people are too ashamed to talk about it, blah, consent.. Sure, it was all important, but Peterknewit all.When he’d sit, slouched and half-asleep on his desk, listening to some middle-aged teacher talk about sexual assault and STD’s, he didn’t ever bother to think that it could be him someday. He just nodded along, tried his best not to doze off, and attempted to retain as much information for the unit test as he could while only half-paying attention.You never think it’ll be you, until it is.(read tags + notes !!)





	Until It Is

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agib](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agib/gifts).



> i’ve never written something so dark and heavy before, but i’m very proud of it and i hope it goes over well ?? 
> 
> anyways please read the tags and proceed with caution ! big big trigger warnings for rape (this word is also used quite a bit) and noncon elements involving skip westcott (obviously not detailed at all but that’s literally the whole premise of this story), pedophelia, lashing out, manipulation, not getting help/being brainwashed and conditioned, grooming, predatory nature, talk of stds/stis as peter gets one, hospital scenes and diagnosis, just overall a lot of uncomfortability — please please be advised and read this at your own discretion !!!! i tried to handle this with as much respect as i could and i tried very hard to make the healing and support parts as effective as i could. it’s very heavy and if this triggers you in the slightest, please click off !! if you’re going through this, don’t do what peter does and close everyone out — get help, because if you don’t, it will get worse and your safety is so so important to me and everyone who cares about you <3  
> ~  
> this story was inspired by agib (agib-2002 on tumblr) !! they had a prompt on there (“Peter starts to get sick and Tony makes him have a checkup and the MedBay and the doctor tells him he has an STD and Tony asks him how he could possibly have an STD and Peter spills.”) and i thought it was really neat, so with credit ofc, i wrote this and i’m very proud of it ! i hope you guys (and agib !!!) like it as well aaa 
> 
> i made him deal with the situation more ,, aggressively ? than timidly ? i thought it’d be an interesting take bc usually he’s very timid and shy while stuff like this is happening in fic, so i really wanted to take a bit of a different path this time. 
> 
> enjoy !!

“Just like that- you’re doing so well, babe, _so well_ …” 

Peter’s been through enough health classes throughout his elementary and high school years to know that what’s currently happening right now is far, far from what’s generally considered okay. _Blah, blah, sometimes they know it’s wrong but they feel safe with their abusers, blah, it’s still wrong if you don’t say no, blah, blah, sometimes people think they should like it, sometimes people are too ashamed to talk about it, blah, consent._. Sure, it was all important, but Peter _knew_ it all. 

Plus, it was only relevant to people who’d be raped, or had been at some point. 

The catch was that he’d never expected it to happen to him, so he had no clue what to do _now_ , and because every situation is so different, he didn’t even know if this _counted_ as “sexual assault”. He didn’t — couldn’t — say no, so did it really? Probably not. 

He hadn’t given half a thought to the idea of getting _sexually abused_ , for fuck’s sake, and he figured he shouldn’t have had to, either. So now, he’s realizing he’s stuck in quite the predicament, where his jaw is dropped with shock, his eyes are squeezed shut, and his body is fully paralyzed. He can’t say no, can’t move, can’t think, can’t _scream_. 

When he’d sit, slouched and half-asleep on his desk, listening to his middle-aged teacher talk about sexual assault and STD’s, he didn’t ever bother to think that it could be him someday. He just nodded along, tried his best not to doze off, and attempted to retain as much information for the unit test as he could while only half-paying attention. 

You never think it’ll be you, until it is. 

And if your mind even so happens to drift to the impossible thought of _what if it was me_ , you’re certain you know what you’d do — you’d yell, scream, kick at them, run away and never look back. Maybe even go to the lawyers and get those sick bastards put where they belong. 

But what you certainly don’t ever think is that you’d be frozen still, because _how_ could you just let someone touch you without your permission? 

You couldn’t possibly. 

The night started so, so well. Peter had gone on a date — without telling anyone, of course, because _bleh_ , he did _not_ want Tony or May finding out he was going on dates yet — with a guy called Skip, and he was absolutely charming. He was much older, probably around his mid-to-late 20’s, but it didn’t matter much to Peter because it compensated for the way he held doors open for Peter, paid for their bills, constantly touched Peter in ways that made his stomach flutter with joy and excitement. 

He made Peter feel loved, which was nothing short of…well, insane, considering he’d only known this older guy for just a few hours. 

Still though, Peter knew he was gone from the get-go, and he fully gave himself permission to trust Skip, because, well…he had no reason not to. Skip clearly made him really quite happy, and Peter fancied him a lot, so it was fine. It was fine. 

Everything was going perfectly. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Skip took Peter back to his place after they’d eaten dinner, assuring it was his treat, and that he had a bunch of movies they could watch, just to hang out together until Peter wanted to go home. Peter hadn’t seen anything wrong, so he quickly agreed and let his fluttering heart guide him to places he shouldn't have gone to. 

Wasn’t he the kid with top grades in all of his classes? Apparently his brain was faltering, because going home with an older guy was the dumbest thing his lovesick self could’ve done — well, maybe aside from agreeing to the date in the first place. But that’s entirely besides the point. 

Skip took Peter’s hand when they walked into his apartment like only a gentleman would, leading him to his bedroom on the top level. His house was quite small, and rather…dark, which Peter wasn’t really expecting, but he supposed it was nice nonetheless? He didn’t have much room to complain — his and May’s apartment was probably comparable, if not worse. 

His bedroom was a mess. Peter could hardly see the floor amongst the clothing and papers strewn everywhere, and it made him feel a bit unsettled and anxious…but Skip just held his hand tighter and sat him down on the bed. Thankfully it was cleared of stuff, and Peter had a fairly nice place to sit. At least the bed was comfortable? 

Skip reached for his remote, powering on the TV while rubbing his thumb over Peter’s hand. It felt safe, and comforting, and Peter finally felt romantically _valued_ by somebody, for what felt like the first time ever. It was a nice change from unrequited crushes, at the very least. 

The television was turned onto a sports channel, but Skip quickly changed it to a different one. It seemed to be some sort of comedy movie playing, but Skip didn’t too much seem to care about the screen, keeping the volume muted. That was quite weird…was it not? Peter thought it was — well, normal to watch TV with sound. 

Soon enough, Peter realized why. 

Skip removed his hand from being clasped with Peter’s, then turned to face the teenager, a gleaming look in his eyes. “You’re eighteen, right?” 

Peter shook his head slowly, returning with a sort of surprised look on his face, giving Skip a small chuckle. “Not ‘till August, unfortunately. Why?” 

“Pity.” 

“Why’s it a pity?” 

“Because you’re absolutely gorgeous, sweetheart.” 

“Oh- I, uh, thanks,” Peter gave Skip a small laugh. He supposed he knew what Skip was referring to, but he simply shrugged it off. The room quickly grew silent and thick with tension, so Peter asked, “why’s the volume down?” 

“I don't want to listen to the television.” 

Peter looked at Skip quizzically. “I- sorry?”

“I’d much rather listen to you.” 

And then, just like that…Peter didn’t know how to scream. Or move, or think, or rationalize. 

He was utterly defenceless to Skip’s forceful touches and demeaning words. He couldn’t do damn a thing about it, and he hated himself for that.   
~   
“You look like shit. Like, absolute shit. What the hell happened to you? Did you get hurt? Is this why you didn’t message me all weekend?” 

Peter glared at Ned who’d just approached him at his pocketed, then looked away quickly. He didn't answer. He’d been pissy and agitated the whole weekend following his ‘date’, and he still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that he’d maybe been… 

God, he couldn’t even say it, he was so ashamed. 

The utter embarrassment and humiliation he felt dwelling deep within his bones was more than enough to keep his mouth shut for as long as he possibly could. 

So maybe he _did_ look like absolute hell washed over him — but so what? Everyone had bad days. He’d be better tomorrow. And tomorrow, hopefully dressed better than black sweatpants, untied runners and a hoodie, topped with the hood tied tightly over his (probably unbrushed) hair, too. 

To say he looked like shit was probably an understatement. 

“Okay, fine, sore subject apparently,” said Ned, frowning. “Can you still come over tonight? I found a few cool Lego models online and I really want to build some. I could use an extra set of hands…”

“Not today, Ned.”

And with that, Peter shut his locker and slung his backpack across his back, turning and walking to his first period class.   
~  
Storming away was officially useless, Peter concluded just a handful of minutes later, because Ned’s sat beside him in his first, second _and_ third period classes, and he had _that_ look on his face when he came in. 

He wanted answers. 

Good thing Peter wasn’t budging on his decision. He wasn’t telling anybody, _ever_ , and that was final. This — what happened — was something that was going with him to the grave. 

“Don’t even bother asking, Ned, because I’m not telling you anything.”

Snarky remarks — to his _best friend_ , who was probably only trying to help (and maybe a little to be nosy too, but this was Ned, of course he wanted to know what happened) — were completely uncalled for, he knew, but dear God, he didn’t care. He didn’t have an ounce of care in his body to be kind today. Or any day preceding, probably. The world (also known as Skip) hadn’t been kind to him, so why should he be kind back? 

“Christ, what _happened_ to you, dude? MJ’s going to hate you acting like this.”

“Good. Let her.” 

Ned frowned, and the class started momentarily after their short, clipped conversation. Peter didn’t utter a word to him the whole rest of the lesson, and Peter stood and sped-walked out as soon as the bell rang for second period. They sat together, and Peter kept his mouth shut again. 

At nine-fifty, Skip sent Peter a message. His phone was sitting upright on his table towards the middle, and as soon as it lit up, Ned looked over at it. 

What, he couldn’t help himself! Maybe it’d have answers! 

Peter hadn’t noticed the notification thanks to the fact that he was fully engulfed in their new chemistry equations, but Ned read it and immediately felt his heart drop. 

The contact name said “Skip” with a heart next to it, which Ned thought was strange, to say the least. He’d never heard of someone named _Skip_ before, nevermind someone Peter seemed to have some degree of romantic affiliation with. The message though, was… 

_Round 2 tonite? IK it’s only Monday, so I’ll have u back home by 10 sharp ;)_

And then the screen dimmed again. 

Quickly, Ned panicked, unsure of what to do. On one hand, sure, this was Peter’s very, _very_ private business that Ned really shouldn’t be meddling about in (and he didn’t really _want_ to learn about, to be frank), but on the other, how could Peter not trust him with having a girlfriend? They were _best friends_! 

So, Ned did the only logical thing he could think of. He texted MJ. 

Ned pulled out his phone, his chemistry equations long gone rom his mind, and pulled up his and MJ’s chat. 

_MJ._

No answer. 

Two minutes later, Ned hurriedly sent, _MJ!!!_

Fuck. _MJ pick up your phone! This is important!_

Finally — thank God — MJ picked up her phone, sending a simple question mark in return. 

_Peter has a girlfriend??!?! Did u know about this??_

_no why should i care?_

_Her name is skip in his phone, which is such a weird name??? She texted him just now and said something like “round 2 tonight? I’ll have you home by 10”?!? I can’t believe he didn’t tell me why wouldn’t he tell me?_

_ned how’d u even know if he didn’t tell you?_

_His phone just went off and I read it. I don’t think he knows I saw it. What do I do? Should I talk to him about her ??_

_gfi…i’m sure it’ll be fine. embarrass him about it and get a good laugh. tell him to use condoms cause he’ll catch shitty things if he doesn’t lol_

_gotta go bye_

Ned looked over at Peter as he set his phone down, then looked down at Peter’s phone. It was dark. 

How should he ask Peter about this? Clearly he didn’t want to talk to Ned today, which he had no clue as to why, but this was big news! It was exciting! He couldn’t believe Peter was getting, like, _laid_. That’s insane. 

Third period went by just as quickly as the first two, and it was finally lunchtime, which meant Peter would have no choice but to talk to Ned. He had to. 

Ned and MJ always arrived at their table before Peter did, which is precisely what happened today. Except five minutes then went by, and then ten, and then the whole hour, and Peter still hadn’t shown up. 

Ned worried about Peter the whole rest of the day. He wasn’t in fifth period, which made Ned’s stomach sink even further. 

What the hell was going on? Did the text and Peter’s weird mood somehow have some sort of correlation? 

No way. It couldn’t…there’s no way Peter could possibly be upset about…y’know, what the message was about. 

Right? 

(Unfortunately for Ned, he was very, very wrong.)   
~  
In short, Peter had a panic attack in the bathroom right when lunch had started, and he knew there was no way he’d be able to face Ned and MJ, because he knew he’d been acting like a terrible friend, and he was also worried he’d accidentally spill his secret, which he was very notorious for. So no, he didn’t _mean_ to skip out from his friends, not _really_ , at least, but the thought of going to fourth and fifth period made him even more queasy and unnerved, so he decided to leave for the afternoon and tell May he wasn’t feeling good. 

It was half-true, at least. 

Peter walked home, his nose stuffy from crying and his hands stuffed deeply in his pockets. He couldn’t deal with this, not today. 

He so desperately wanted to tell somebody, tell them how he didn’t like Skip anymore, but he couldn’t. What if it was his fault? What if he _had_ secretly wanted it? 

He hadn’t said no. 

_(But he hadn’t said yes, either.)_

God, and what would May say?

_“Yeah, May, I went out with a guy almost ten years older than me and we had sex. I didn’t want it, I didn’t like it, but I didn’t do anything about it, either. I didn’t say no, which means maybe I did, secretly, so it couldn’t have been that bad. I think he raped me, but maybe he didn’t. He was really sweet to me before, so I don’t really know. Sorry about that. By the way, is this not a good time to tell you I’m bisexual, too?”_

She’d be so fucking ashamed of him, for being so dirty, so helpless, and for even _going out with him_ in the first place! 

When Peter finally got home, he immediately ran to his bedroom and collapsed into his bed, breathing in the familiar scent of his sheets. This was a safe place. He’d be safe here, in his bed, and it’d be alright. 

Peter cried himself to sleep that afternoon.   
~   
Peter had been living with this secret for the better part of two weeks now, and to say it was severely affecting every part of his life was not an understatement in the slightest. Any of the homework he’d done since his and Skip’s first date was done poorly, he’d almost completely cut himself off from Ned and MJ, he was being snappy with May, he was feeling weak and cold as ever considering he hardly ate anymore due to a complete lack of appetite, and he hadn’t gone to the Tower to see Tony or patrolled once since. 

The only thing that brought him even a shred of happiness was…was seeing _him_ again. 

Skip started to convince Peter that it was okay, and that all virgins are scared the first time. He convinced Peter it was normal to feel scared, or to not like it the first time, but that it got better the more he did it. 

And Peter started to believe him. 

Except it didn’t feel better the next time. Or the next. By the fourth time Skip and Peter had seen each other, Peter had gotten used to the fact that he just wouldn’t like it. He’d convinced himself that even if it hurt and even if he didn’t _want_ it to happen, it’s just how it was supposed to feel. Because when Skip wasn’t doing _that_ with him, he made Peter feel wanted, and loved, and cared for. 

That, and the fact that Skip consistently told him that what was happening was right, was one of the only reasons Peter thought it was alright. Skip made him feel happy — or what he thought was happy, at least — and now that they were close to three weeks together, he thought it was right. 

Even if it wasn’t. 

Even if he wasn’t seeing the bad parts of everything that was going on. 

On the third Friday, their three week “anniversary”, Skip asked him to go out again. Peter agreed because it was clearly the right thing to do, and he had no reason not to. One of his teachers, his physics teacher, had pulled him aside after class and asked him why he was suddenly not trying with his schoolwork. 

Peter snapped at him, telling him his private life was none of his business and stormed out of the classroom. Thankfully it was Friday. 

Coincidentally, that same day, Ned had had enough. 

He did what any best friend would do. 

Went to May, of course, who would go to Tony afterwards, who would, in turn, go directly to Peter to find out what the hell was going on. 

Of course Ned had started it, calling May after school to talk to her. He told her everything he knew — which, albeit wasn’t a lot but it was _something_ — because he knew she’d be able to help. She was _livid_ when she found out Peter had a girlfriend who he was sleeping with, because he was so _young_ and _naïve_ , and clearly she wasn’t making him happy, clearly she was hurting him somehow. Peter deserved so much more than whatever he was getting out of this relationship. Plus, was he drinking? Going to parties? Going off getting high? 

Then, of course, she blamed Tony, but when Tony found out, he was just as angry. He’d been there way too many times, and he knew how much he now regretted it. He wished, more than anything, for his past to go away — he’d wasted all of his teenage years sleeping with essentially any person that would look twice at him, as well as getting high, drunk, smoking… 

If this was the road Peter was leading himself down now, Tony seriously needed to re-evaluate the way he was mentoring this kid. That wasn’t right, and he needed to take it from Tony himself. 

How had he let his life unravel so much in less than a month? Tony needed answers — they all did, because sure, teenagers go through rebellious phases all the time, but this…this was different. It was ridiculously unlike Peter, to the extent of Tony being fully sure it wasn’t just Peter doing this because he wanted to rebel. It had to be something else. 

It had to be.   
~  
When Tony called Peter that evening, Peter didn’t pick up. His phone was off and he was out with Skip, so he didn’t realize…not like he’d pick up anyway, but he had at least a fairly valid excuse. 

Tony proceeded to call many, many times. Every time, it went straight to voicemail, and with every time he heard the automated message, his heart broke more and more. 

He didn’t know what to do. 

He was at such a loss.

Karen hadn’t been activated in over three weeks and he had absolutely no information on where Peter was or what he was doing. Nobody but this fucking Skip did. 

Tony was going to tear this Skip chick to fucking _pieces_ when he met her.   
~  
Tonight had been the worst night, Peter thought. Skip had been more aggressive, more dominant, more humiliating and degrading than usual. Peter still couldn’t fight back, but it burnt worse and worse, and Skip was hitting harder and harder… 

Not to mention the hickey’s he decided to leave tonight. Where they were visible. 

Like, _very_ visible. On his neck, on his shoulders, arms, even his wrists. 

There’s no way he’d ever be able to hide these now. 

Especially not when he arrived home — past two in the morning — with the lights flicked off. May must’ve been asleep. 

When Peter crept through the small apartment, he immediately went to the bathroom and dropped to the floor, tears streaming down his face. He felt sick to his stomach with shame. The first few dates hadn’t gone so bad, they hadn’t been as rough as tonight, Skip hadn’t left him _marks_ everywhere, he hadn’t felt like less of a real person before tonight. 

Peter proceeded to vomit any remains of his dinner into the toilet as quietly as he could. The fragile boy was left, leaned over the toilet bowl, slivering, heaving, _crying_. 

He couldn’t scratch at his skin to get rid of the marks enough. He felt disgusting. 

Truly and utterly disgusting. 

This couldn’t be how sex usually was. 

This couldn’t possibly be it… 

He always heard about sex being some magical thing, something that people did to feel happiness and love, but whatever happened in the dead hours of tonight was anything but. Peter felt dehumanized, dirty, impure and shameful. 

He didn’t know how to stop it, though. 

So he supposed he’d have to power through.   
~  
Peter woke up in the morning to a sick feeling in his stomach and a throbbing in his head. 

Not to mention how sore his body felt, because he’d felt too weak to get up and go to bed last night — he’d fallen asleep on the bathroom floor. Damn, okay, Peter thought, he’d need to make note not to do that again because his neck would definitely not forgive him if it happened a second time. 

Thankfully the bruises Skip had so graciously left him were essentially faded by now — thank _God_ for radioactive spiders and fast-healing.

Peter’s phone was next to him on the ground which he quickly picked up and powered on. He waited a few moments for it to load and typed in his passcode, waiting for it to connect to the home internet. 

What Peter definitely didn’t expect was over fifty calls from Tony, and almost as many from May, to appear in his missed notifications.

Jesus Christ. 

Peter didn’t even know what to say to that, or what to do, besides feel his chest cave with guilt. The least he could’ve done was pick up and tell them he was fine, surely. Because he was. 

Last night must’ve just been a fluke. Skip wasn’t usually that bad. He’d be better next time. 

Plus, his absolute _breakdown_ last night was totally uncalled for. He needed to stop being such a prissy kid and man up. Guys were supposed to love sex. 

He had to love what Skip was doing. That’s what guys did. 

But then Peter couldn’t remember the rest of the morning, for whatever reason. Not until it all clicked.   
~  
Peter had been treated in the MedBay at the Tower twice before. Once, when he was fifteen and got stabbed by a robber during patrol, and last year when he’d landed badly on his ankle falling down a set of stairs. He recognized the familiar sounds immediately, the beeping bringing him back to consciousness, and he quickly realized his entire body was sore. Why was he even here? Nothing had happened, right?

Except for the fact that he passed out while on the bathroom floor again, but this time, May had found him. 

She called Tony over before she could even realize what the hell was happening. 

Of course Tony had a room lined up for Peter, courtesy of Bruce and Helen, for when Peter got to the hospital. Nobody had a clue what was going on, not even May and Tony, but the fragility of Peter’s body, the vomit in the toilet and the dried tears on his face may have been signs. 

Peter was examined as soon as he got to the hospital. 

Apparently he had fainted due to severe malnutrition, but from further examination…

Things didn’t look too good. 

Peter had severe contusions, a very high fever, a mild concussion from the night before, along with severe marks strewn across his body, particularly on his back, sides, stomach and thighs. The marks seemed to be from hands and something similar to a belt or whip. His legs had dried blood all across the back of them, but there were no open wounds the doctors could find. 

It was rape, plain and simple. Multiple occasions of it. 

And then, as if it could get even worse, they took blood tests to find out if he had any diseases. 

Tony prayed to any God he knew of that he wouldn’t. 

His Peter, his kid… 

Of course they came back with a severe lack of nutrients thanks to his malnutrition, but there was something else. Something much, much more severe. 

This was what Tony was worried about. 

A very significant lack of CD4 cells. Or T cells, which they’re more commonly known as. 

In very other words, Peter Parker had HIV. 

From Skip Westcott. 

Tony had to stop himself from breaking down right then and there when Bruce told him what he’d found out. He was lucky enough to get through his teenage years unscathed, completely free of any diseases, but the fact that Peter… 

No, no, _no_. He couldn’t do this. 

He demanded another test to be done, because this couldn’t be happening, but all it came back with was a worse result. 

This couldn’t… 

When Peter woke up, he could hardly open his eyes due to the blinding, harsh light the room gave off. He let out a soft yawn and then forced himself to examine his situation. 

He first spotted Tony. 

There he was, the man he looked up to most, sitting in the chair across from Peter’s bed. 

Peter’s body tensed, which made his heart rate speed up significantly, which immediately caught Tony off guard. 

“Oh, Christ, Peter-” 

How had he been so careless? If he’d just gotten up and fallen asleep in his own fucking bed, he wouldn’t be here, and Tony wouldn’t be humiliated and ashamed out of his mind because he wouldn’t have known anything was wrong in the first place! 

Peter swallowed thickly, but his throat soon proved to be very dry and very, very sore. “S’there ‘ny water anywhere?”

He sounded so helpless. So weak. 

He was Spiderman. He was strong! 

“Uh huh,” Tony hummed quickly, reaching over to grab his half-empty bottle of water, getting up and giving it to Peter. “Drink this, kid.”

Tony sounded sad, or ill, maybe. Maybe Peter had gotten him sick. 

“Thanks,” he whispered, wincing at the soreness from his throat. The water as it passed down felt close to heavenly. 

“I’m going to call Bruce in, alright? And then I’ll call May, and she’ll get here as soon as she can. Does that sound okay?” 

Peter nodded slowly, shutting his eyes. May sounded nice to see right now. 

Moments later, Bruce walked into Peter’s room, giving him a solemn greeting, which Peter immediately frowned at. That didn’t sound too good? 

“How are you feeling, Peter?” 

“I’ve…been better?” He tried at a joke, but neither of the men in the room laughed. “Tough crowd?”

“Let me check your vitals and then we’ll talk, alright?” Bruce asked, motioning to his clipboard. Peter nodded shortly, giving a confused face to him. What…what were they talking about? 

Bruce took Peter’s vitals quickly, and then pulled the empty chair next to Tony’s over to beside Peter’s bed. 

God, this sounded _serious_? What had he done? 

Tony quickly got up to bring his chair over, then hesitated. “Can I stay in here? Do you want me to stay in here, Pete?”

“Uh, I don’t…I don’t care? I don’t really understand what’s going on..” 

“May’s probably still sleeping,” Tony informed Bruce, “it was quite a long day and I just told her to go get some rest and stop worrying a couple of hours ago…?”

“That’s fine, Tones, he probably shouldn’t have a bunch of people in here for this anyway. We’ll just talk to her later, yes? She probably needs the rest.” 

With that, Tony pulled up his chair next to Bruce, reaching out and grabbing Peter’s hand. Immediately, Peter pulled his hand away, frowning at Tony. “Why did you just do that?” 

“Relax, kid. Please relax.” 

As soon as Bruce was finished writing whatever it was on his charts, he flipped it back to the first page. “Okay, what do you remember from last night? Whatever you remember, just tell me, please.” 

“What time is it?” Peter asked, tilting his head to the side questioningly. Last night? 

“About one-thirty.”

“P.M?”

“No, kid. It’s been a bit since you’ve been in here. One A.M.” 

Peter frowned further. He’d slept a long time…why?

“What do you remember?” 

“Uh,” Peter hesitated. Of course he remembered everything — in vivid detail, really — but he’d rather not tell them that. “Not…not a lot?” 

“I didn’t think his concussion was _that_ bad, Bruce-”

“It’s not, Tony. Relax,” Bruce waved Tony off, turning his attention to Peter. “This conversation isn’t going to work if you don’t tell me anything, Peter. If you don’t want Tony in here, if you’re not comfortable with him, he can go, but _I_ need to know what you remember so I can talk to you about everything, okay? You can’t lie to me right now, and I need to know because you’re in an incredibly compromising position, Peter..” 

Peter shook his head. Apparently whatever this was was bad, _really_ bad, and he really wanted somebody he trusted with him right now. He didn’t know Bruce very well, but Tony… 

He can trust Tony. Tony won’t judge him.

“I remember coming home really late and going to the bathroom,” Peter recounted slowly, avoiding looking at the two men beside him. “Uh, I threw up, I think, and I didn’t really feel good and I fell asleep in the bathroom.” 

“That’s all?”

“I woke up at, like, eight this morning, maybe, and checked my phone, but I don’t remember anything after that, no.” 

Bruce scribbled down a few things on his page before looking back up, “What about before that?”

“Before I got home…?” 

Bruce nodded silently. 

Peter averted his eyes from Bruce once again, and his toes curled under the sheets. He could trust Tony and Bruce, he could… 

“I was, uh, I was out with someone.” 

Tony tensed as soon as he heard what Peter said, he wanted to pray to God it wasn’t Skip, but… 

But he knew it was. 

“Who?”

“Just a guy, I…I don’t think it really matters, Doctor Banner-”

“Does he go by the name of Skip?” 

Peter tensed.

How did he know that? 

He couldn’t have possibly known that. He didn’t tell a soul! 

“Peter?” Tony said reassuringly, “Peter. You have to answer him.” 

“Uh, yeah. How did you know that?” Peter asked defensively, ignoring Tony completely. “He didn’t- he didn’t do anything wrong, Doctor, I can’t..” 

Bruce flipped a few pages further in his clipboard that contained the information about his injuries and diagnosis’s. “I’m going to talk to you about what we’ve figured out now, alright?”

Peter nodded. 

“But I’m expecting you to be mature about it, Peter. I know some of this stuff can be really uncomfortable, but this is an incredibly safe place to talk. I’ve certainly seen everything there is to see, and you don’t even want to know the half of what Tony’s done, huh, Tones?” Bruce joked, nudging Tony softly. All Tony could do was half-heartedly laugh and nod. “See? Very safe place. If you’re uncomfortable, we can take a breather, but you really need to know this stuff, got it?”

Peter choked on his breath as he tried to speak. He quickly nodded, looking desperately between Tony and Bruce. 

Deep down, Peter thought he maybe knew what was coming, but he didn’t. Not at all. 

“Alright, so off the bat, you had quite a high fever but that seems to have mostly gone down by now, which is good. A very mild concussion from your fainting, but that’s not too much to worry about.” Peter nodded along, still looking anywhere but at Bruce and Tony. “You have quite a bit of bruising and multiple contusions, which is…odd, looking at the placement, primarily on your stomach, sides, back, thighs. Are you sore anywhere there?”

Peter shrugged. “I guess so.”

Bruce nodded. “Severe malnourishment was shown with blood tests done. Is there a reason for that?” 

Peter shrugged once again. “How did you do all of this while I was sleeping?” 

“You were under a lot of medicine, and generally we do these sorts of tests while patients are asleep to get straight to what we need. Sometimes people put up quite the fight.” 

Peter raised his eyebrows. “With…?” 

Bruce shook his head. “This is where I need you to listen carefully, and to tell me the truth, alright?” 

Peter nodded slowly. 

Bruce hesitated, looking over to Tony, whose eyes were shut, and then looked back to Peter. “You’re all cleaned up now, of course, but there was a significant amount of dried blood and semen across the back of your legs, which was very alarming because you have no open wounds anywhere. We first assumed it was someone else’s, but after comparing test samples, we’ve established it’s your own blood, but DNA samples of the semen show it’s is very, very unlikely yours, though we can’t be a hundred percent without a comparison that we know is certainly your DNA. We are assuming, for the time being, that it’s Skip’s. Does this…ring a bell?” 

Peter stared blankly at Bruce, toes curling at the news. He couldn’t fucking believe this…what the _hell_? There’s no way it was _his_ blood, for fuck’s sake, Bruce just said he had no open wounds-

Oh. 

Oh, no. _No_. 

Slowly, his eyes widened at the realization. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it quickly. He had no idea what to say. 

“In addition to that, there’s also very harsh marks on your body, which leads us to believe that, with the blood, it was very likely non-consensual. Is…this true?” Bruce paused, “you can be honest here, Peter. I promise. If it was or wasn’t, nobody will think badly of you.” 

“I-I don’t know,” said Peter, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know.” 

Tony swallowed thickly. “Kid, you know _what_ that is, right?” Tony spoke softly, so kindly. Peter appreciated it more than he’d ever know. “If you didn’t want it to happen, it wasn't consensual.”

“I don’t know, I-I don’t…” 

“Pete, even if you didn’t say no, it’s absolutely not consensual. The only way it was was if you explicitly said yes. Did you say yes?” 

Peter ever-so-slowly shook his head, and Bruce wrote down the information on the page. Tony’s heart skipped a beat, and he extended his hand to Peter’s once again. This time, Peter let it happen. 

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” Bruce said softly, giving Peter such a look of sincerity, it made Peter’s heart want to burst. “There’s still…a fair bit coming, are you able to continue, or do you need a bit of a break?” 

Peter sucked in a breath and looked at Tony. Tony squeezed his hand. “You’re so brave, Peter, you can do it,” said Tony softly, nodding at Peter. “You’re doing so well.” 

Suddenly, Peter whipped his hand away from Tony’s, eyes wide as if automatically. “Don’t you dare say that to me,” he said harshly, shaking his head at Tony quickly. “Please-”

Tony sat back in disbelief. “Peter-”

“Tony, if he says not to say something to him, you don’t say it.” 

Peter bit down on his lip, squeezing his eyes shut. He could hear Skip’s reassurances ringing around his mind, and in that moment of Tony speaking, that’s all he could see, hear, _feel_ \- Skip’s hands on him, his voice… 

“Peter, did he ever say those sorts of things to you?” 

When Peter nodded slowly, so slowly, Tony’s heart dropped once again. He couldn’t believe he’d just done that to him- 

“Tony, relax. It’s a trigger. Avoid those sorts of phrases and it’ll be alright, got it? You probably have lots, too, but these are very fresh…”

“Please, just keep going, drop it,” Peter choked, shaking his head. “What else? What else is wrong?” 

Bruce sat for a few moments in efforts to let Peter calm down. “Are you sure, Peter?” 

“Christ, yes! I’m not a baby! Please, just tell me what it is, I’m so sick of this cryptic shit,” he murmured under his breath, then let out a deep exhale of relief when Bruce turned the page once again. 

“Alright, so we took a fresh sample of blood to compare to the blood on your legs, and found a few issues with it. Firstly, of course, malnourishment, but we’d mostly gathered that from your body currently. The thing that we found severely wrong was a lower count of your CD4 cells, or T cells, more commonly known as. Do you know what that means at all?” 

Peter shook his head. He probably did, honestly, but none of his biology classes were fresh in his mind at the moment, and he didn’t want to bother to thinking too hard. He wasn’t too sure he wanted to. 

“It’s an issue with your white blood cells, essentially. It’s a virus commonly transported through blood, semen, shared needles, et-cetera. You know what HIV is, yes?”

And just like that, all of the colour in Peter’s face drained, and he suddenly found himself struggling to think, to listen, to breathe. 

“Listen to me, Peter, I know this is very difficult when you first learn and that’s perfectly fine, but you have to listen to me, okay? It’s very early on, a few weeks at most, which is incredibly good, and you’re seriously lucky you fainted because God knows how long you’d go without knowing, okay? You’re very, very lucky we found it so early. That makes it much easier to deal with. You’re absolutely not dying. You will be just fine,” Bruce informed, but Peter wasn’t entirely listening. The stable voice was keeping him grounded, though, which was really nice, but… 

What did he do to deserve this? 

Out of all people, out of _everyone_ in the whole damn world, why did _he_ deserve to get this virus? 

How could he ever trust anybody new ever again? 

_How dare Skip do this to him?!_

He trusted Skip, dare he say he loved him, and _this_ is what he gets in return. 

A virus that leads to eventual, probably early-onset death. A virus that’ll make him probably unable to ever have sex with anybody else ever again in his _life_. A virus that is absolutely, positively humiliating. 

_A virus that he can’t ever get rid of._

“If you need a minute, I’ll step outside, Peter,” Bruce said softly, trying not to startle the teenager. 

This was never, ever easy, but having to share this with someone he knew fairly well was…horrendous. A teenager, especially… 

Who’d been raped. 

Sometimes the world worked in cruel, cruel ways. Whatever this kid did that made him deserve this must’ve been…unimaginable, apparently. 

With no response, Bruce stood, telling Tony he should probably stay with Peter and make sure he’s alright. 

So he did. 

Peter didn’t say anything for a long, long time. He had no idea whether it’d been a few minutes or half an hour, but it was spent with Peter avoiding looking at Tony as much as possible in fear of sheer shame, while simultaneously being so grateful Tony was holding his hand, keeping him grounded, safe. He could trust Tony. He really knew he could trust Tony. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Tony looked over at Peter, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault, Peter, none of it, alright? It’s that sick, sick man’s fault. None of yours. I need you to make sure you know that.” 

“I should’ve told you.” 

Again, Tony shook his head and gave Peter simple reassurances, making absolute sure Peter understood none of what happened was because of him. It was not his fault. 

“Tony, I-I really liked him-” said Peter slowly, lip trembling. Tony squeezed his hand again. “He was..he was so nice to me when- when it wasn’t happening, when we weren’t at his house, he…I really thought it was fine, Tony, I-I figured it would get better, maybe, o-or hurt less, ‘cause that’s what he kept saying, he always said I was so good ‘n’ that it would be better, ‘nd that he loved me, ‘cause he always told me that- said I was good when I s’being good to him-” Peter huffed, tears soon streaming down his face. 

Tony felt them, too, the tears prick at the back of his eyes. He couldn’t even fucking fathom how someone could take advantage of _his kid_ like that…how could you use a defenseless teenagers naïvity for your own pleasure like this? 

Would he still have done it if he saw Peter right now, heartbroken, humiliated and destroyed? 

Probably, Tony figured, because he was a sick _bastard_ who had a very special place for him already reserved in Hell. 

And if he didn’t yet, Tony would make damn sure he did by the time he was dead. 

Which would hopefully be very, very fucking soon. 

“People aren’t usually so nice to me,” Peter whispered, shutting his eyes. “A-a _lot_ of people really don’t like me, ‘n’ they don’t like Spiderman, and it felt so nice when we were out,” choked Peter, his hand going limp against Tony’s. “I-I shouldn’t have done it.” 

And then, before Tony could even respond, there was a knock on the door. Moments later, it opened to reveal May with teary eyes and Bruce standing right behind her. 

“Oh, my sweet boy,” muttered May as she rushed to Peter’s bedside, across from Tony. She figured he was just as important to Peter right now, he could use all of the support he could get. “I love you so much, my goodness, I’m so glad you’re alright, you’re- alive, my sweetheart…” 

Both of Peter’s hands were now occupied by the two people who loved him most, and many tears were shed. At around three, Bruce came in once more, hoping he’d given the makeshift family enough time to grieve for the time being — there was still an issue that needed to be dealt with, as much as the doctor wished there wasn’t. Peter didn’t deserve this. 

“Good morning,” said Bruce as he pushed the door open, shutting it right behind him. “Are we feeling a little bit better?” 

“I think so,” Tony said softly, turning to Peter, “how are you feeling, kid?” 

Peter shrugged against the bed, tilting his head back into the pillow. “Better, I guess.” 

“Good, good. I want to check vitals again, and then I’ll talk to you a bit more about what all of this means. Does that sound good?” 

Peter shook his head, because it didn’t sound good, realistically, but he knew he’d have to anyway. He had no choice. 

“Are you feeling sore at all? Pain in your head, body, anything like that? Cold, hot at all?” 

“My head hurts a bit,” said Peter shyly, shrugging. “I could probably do with a blanket, too.” 

Bruce nodded. “No soreness, no pain anywhere else?” 

Peter shook his head. 

“Good. We have you on some pretty strong pain meds to keep all of that down but we may need to look into a new dosage if you’re feeling pain in your head,” said Bruce, setting down the clipboard and walking over to the cupboard in the corner of the small room, pulling out a white blanket and unfolding it, draping it across Peter. “Hopefully that helps a bit. Let me grab a chair and we’ll get started.” 

“Thank you,” said both May and Tony at the same time, earning nothing but a minor chuckle from each of them. Nothing from Peter. 

Moments later, Bruce was bringing in a third chair to the room, positioning it back to where he was sat earlier, beside Tony. 

Both of Peter’s hands were still being held, despite how clammy and warm and probably sweaty they were. Nobody cared. 

“So, like I said, this can be a very scary thing to deal with when you’re first coming to terms with it,” said Bruce, seating himself comfortably in the chair, “But it’s okay. There’s no shame in having this virus. There’s about forty thousand people in the US diagnosed with HIV every year, which is quite a few, which, in turn, generally makes more accurate treatments and a better understanding of it. That’s good, yes?” Bruce nodded softly, hoping to elicit some sort of confirmation from Peter. It didn’t, not really. “Generally only about half the teens your age actually know they have it, which makes having this virus worlds better, I promise.” 

May sat silently, rubbing Peter’s hand comfortingly with her thumb. Tony wasn’t moving at all, but somewhere in the back of Peter’s mind, he knew it was a big deal Tony was even up for this kind of reassurance in the first place, so he counted it as a win. 

Bruce figured nobody was going to respond anytime soon, so he continued on. “You’ll have to be on meds for, well, the rest of your life so you can keep it manageable, because as I’m sure you know, you can’t get rid of HIV.” 

Of course Peter knew that, but hearing the words again made him tense up with shock. All he could think was how dare he, how _dare_ he, _how dare he?_

Somewhere beside him, he heard soft assurances. 

“You’ll be able to continue living a normal life — or, well, as normal as your life can possibly be, Peter. Again, I know it seems life-ruining, but once you get used to taking your medicine every day, you can live healthily and happily. Most people forget they’re even positive when they take care of themselves well enough. You just…need to take precautions, which can be good, because you’ll be extra safe doing things some people don’t think twice about.” 

Peter hated that he knew what Bruce meant by that comment. 

“I’m going to have you start on a few different pills to start to see what your metabolism does to them. Because you’re, well, enhanced, different from most humans, it’ll take quite a bit more trial and error, but we’ll have it figured out as soon as we can. You’ll know if your medicine isn’t working, most people generally get common flu symptoms, fevers, a sore throat, stuff like that, so as soon as or if you do, you need to let someone know. Can you promise that? You’ll tell somebody if you’re feeling something's not right?” 

Peter swallowed thickly, “Yeah.” 

“Good, good. Maturity is what’s most important here, alright? It’s incredibly important you get into habit of using your meds, especially when we find out what works best with you, because prolonged periods without them can cause this virus to spiral, which turns into AIDS, and I’m sure you know that can’t be treated at all. With being open about it with your aunt, or Tony, me, or whoever, we can work together to make sure you live as normally and comfortably as you possibly can. Got it?” 

Once again, Peter nodded. He couldn’t help but feel like the reassurances were just to make him feel better — there’s no way he’d be able to live properly ever again. 

Ever again.   
~   
Two weeks had passed since Peter had been released from the hospital, and he learned now, more than ever, that things often got much worse before they got marginally better. 

Worse as in nightmares almost every time he fell asleep, fevers, jumpiness and two more hospital stays. 

It got so bad to the point where Peter didn’t want to be separated from Tony nor his aunt, so they made temporary arrangements where May and Peter would often stay at the Tower overnight in efforts to help him so he knew he didn’t have to go through this alone. 

The medication was a whole other story. It took ages, everyday worse than the last, to find the right dosage and kind of medicine Peter could take so it wouldn’t harm him. The side effects were their own personal Hell, and Peter had never wished so bad to…

He wasn’t even going to finish that thought. He couldn’t disappoint May and Tony again. 

Due to the new illness and the bumpy start, Peter had to miss a lot of school, at least until he was more stable. Ned would either come to the Tower to share his notes and homework with Peter (mostly to keep him sane because living under strict housebound rules was excruciating), or FaceTime him for hours on end on the days he couldn’t. 

It helped, sure, but… 

But the panic attacks and the nightmares made Peter feel so alone. So, so alone. 

Sometimes he wouldn’t bother to wake up May, he wouldn’t want to knock on Tony’s door to ask for help, so he’d deal with it himself in the dead of the night. 

And it was the worst thing ever. 

It felt like as soon as he’d taken a step forward, he’d wake up and immediately would be taken ten steps back. His progress consistently deteriorated. 

He could feel his skin crawling when he’d wake up to a dark, empty room, with Skip’s hands roaming. He could hear the words Skip would tell him. 

And yet? He missed when Skip would hold his hand in public, or hold the door open for him, or act _kindly_ with him. Bruce explained to him that this was normal, that what Skip did was wrong and that Peter didn’t really love him, that he just liked the attention he got. Peter didn’t even understand how that was possible. Not yet, at least. 

Tonight is when it got really bad. 

When he woke up, probably sometime between three and four in the morning, his head was pounding. It was most likely a nightmare that woke him again — he wouldn’t be surprised — but he didn’t remember it, which was good. He couldn’t stand the throbbing in his head, though, but when he tried to stand up (what for, he didn’t exactly know), he collapsed back onto his bed, head spinning. 

This was bad. This was…this was really bad. It’s never felt like this before. 

It took quite a bit of coaxing towards himself to get up and get _someone_ , because when he got to the door, he felt like collapsing all over again. 

But he was strong. He could do this. 

He needed to do this, ‘cause that’s what Bruce told him to do. 

If something was wrong, he needed to tell someone. 

Logistically, Tony’s room was closer to his than May’s was, but he didn’t much feel like waking Pepper up and bothering her or disturbing her sleep. May’s room was further, much further, but Peter didn’t know how much longer he could go without collapsing on the floor due to the pain in his head. 

Tony’s room it is, then. 

Tony and Pepper used to lock their door every night, but since the situation with Peter arose, they figured it was best to keep it open for him had he needed it. 

As Peter pushed their door open, he made a mental note to thank them when he could. 

Peter crept into the dark room as quickly as he could, but the newfound dizziness he felt was proving it hard to move quickly. “Tony..” he muttered weakly, bringing a hand up to his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Tony,” he repeated, trying to make himself sound a bit louder. Neither of them even so stirred in their sleep, and Peter felt hopeless. 

All he could do was sit down on the floor and lay back, praying to God the dizziness surrounding him would go away. He didn’t think he had it in himself to call out for Tony again, but he mustered up as much weak energy as he could and repeated his name one more time. 

“Sir, Mister Parker seems to be in distress.”

Peter jumped at the sound of FRIDAY’s voice, silently thanking her voice was so loud. It woke Tony and Pepper both very fast, and Peter made sure to have himself be known to make sure he wasn’t stepped on. “‘ony,” he moaned, one arm draped across his eyes, the other across his stomach. “M..m’here…” 

Tony jumped at the sudden noise, utterly confused as to why Peter seemed to be…laying on his floor. “FRI, turn the lights up a bit,” said Tony groggily, rubbing his face with his hand as he waited for the AI to respond to his demand. “Thanks.” 

As Tony’s eyes adjusted to the dim lights, he immediately looked down, then dropped to the floor to engulf Peter. “Kid, talk to me, what’s going on? Why are you _laying on my floor_? How long have you been down here? What hurts?”

Pepper watched nervously from her side of the bed. She’d never seen this sort of thing happen to Peter before, not within the past few weeks, and she didn’t think she’d ever seen him so…so miserable. “Tony, is there anything you want me to do?” She asked softly, frowning at the sight. 

“Could you maybe go down and make sure there’s a room ready for him? He probably needs painkillers and monitoring for tonight. Thank you so much, Pep, I’ll be down in a few minutes. Maybe wake up May, too?” 

“Sure. I- good luck with him.” 

Tony sat on the ground with Peter’s head in his lap, softly carding his fingers through his hair as Peter cringed miserably at the pain throbbing in his head. “I’s never this..this bad,” he slurred, letting out a huff of pain. Tony’s heart broke. 

“I know, I know,” Tony said, holding the teenager close. He wished Iron Man could fix everything, but unfortunately… 

“Peter?” It was May. “Oh, Pete..” 

“I think his head hurts, that seems to be what it usually is. He was laying down here when I woke up. I sent Pepper down to make sure a room gets ready for him.” 

May simply nodded and cradled Peter as well as she could. This whole thing, these past couple weeks have been so incredibly overwhelming for her and Tony, so she couldn’t even imagine being in Peter’s position right now. The pain, the trauma, the virus… 

And she had no idea how to help him. 

“Tony Stark to MedBay, please, Tony Stark to MedBay.” 

“Alright, kid, we have to take you downstairs. I’ll carry you, even, you’ll get extra special treatment. Does that sound good?” 

Peter nodded lazily, seemingly already on the way to passing out in Tony’s lap. “May’ll even hold your hand all the way down, kid, if you want.”

“Please,” he mumbled as Tony stood up, picking him up and cradling him against his chest. It took a bit of gentle adjusting because he wanted to hurt Peter as little as possible, but overall felt quite accomplished when he only let out a handful of whines of pain. May grabbed on tight to her nephew’s hand, refusing to let go the entire way down. She would go to the ends of the earth for him if that’s what it took for him to be happy and healthy again. 

It turned out that Helen was the main doctor on duty tonight, and Bruce was away on a day off, which usually would’ve been alright, except… 

Peter didn’t know Helen nearly as well, and it was hard enough for him to trust Bruce with what was wrong, someone he knew decently well. Helen, though, as great as she was… 

Peter immediately fell asleep — or rather, passed out — as he hit the mattress which relieved Tony and May greatly. That meant he was healthy enough to sleep still. That was good. That meant progress, if only a little bit. 

At this rate, any progress was good progress, which was what they had to focus on now. Small strides meant getting better. 

Peter was put on an extremely high dosage of painkillers that night which knocked him out for a good half-day, and he didn’t wake up until midday the next. May had even gone to work within that time, which was seriously unfortunate, but it’s not like Peter liked being overwhelmed when he was in emergency, so maybe it was alright.

Whatever it took to make him happy. 

“Pete?” Tony said softly, heart skipping a beat when he finally twitched to show he was waking up once again. 

Who knew this would be so fucking difficult? After everything Peter’s been through… 

“Mis’er Stark,” Peter slurred, a small, dopey sort of smile on his face. He felt _really_ good given how shitty he felt just a few hours before. God, he hoped he’d never feel such excruciating pain like that ever again. “I f’l good! No’ing ‘urts, Tony!” He hesitantly exclaimed, his eyes slowly fluttering open. “L’st night really sucked.” 

“It must’ve, kid, you were laying on my floor when I woke up. Scared me half to death.” 

“S’rry, Tony.” 

“You’re a hell of a good kid keeping me on my toes. It’s probably good for my heart, anyway. Don’t worry, Pete. Just..real glad you’re feeling better…even if you’re on an insane amount of painkillers right now. We’ll take what we can get, right?” 

“Uh huh,” said Peter slowly, “Take what we ‘an get,” he repeated, nodding off. 

“Was…was it a nightmare again, kid?” 

Peter shrugged, eyes fully closed. “I don’t remember it if i’was. Sorry, Mis’er Stark.” 

Tony swallowed thickly. “Do you think getting some sort of help…would help you at all?”

“I already have help, I h’ve you, n’May, Tony, n’the doctors..” 

“I meant something like…a therapist to help you with the nightmares?” Tony paused slowly, waiting for a reaction. “I..I want to see you get better, Pete, and it doesn’t seem like it’s happening so far.”

“I’s really hard.” 

“I know, kid,” said Tony, bringing a hand up to Peter to run it through his curls, clinging to his forehead. “I know it is, but that’s why we could have you get some help. Someone professional would be able to help with it all. You’d feel better.”

Peter immediately settled into the familiar action, relaxing at the feeling of Tony’s hand carding his hair. “That’d be nice…I really wan’a feel better, Tony, I’ate this. I wan’help” 

And with that, prickling tears aside, Tony settled into the chair, bone-deep relief flooding through him. 

Peter would be alright. 

Peter be okay, he’d be okay someday, even if it’d take a hell of a long time to get there. 

Tony was willing to be there with him every single step of the way. He’d do whatever it took. 

One step forward, two steps back. One step forward, two steps back.

One step forward, one step back. One step forward, one step back. 

One step forward…no steps back. 

Just…one step at a time.


End file.
